Spiced Wine
by funscone
Summary: Two occasions when Tezuka drinks spiced wine. Fluff. TezukaRyoma. PG13 on lj, R here to be sure.


Title: Spiced Wine  
Fandom: Prince of Tennis  
Pairing: Tezuka/Ryoma  
Rating: PG-13  
Words: 1100  
Genre: Fluff  
Summary: Two occasions when Tezuka drinks spiced wine. Tehe.  
Warnings: Disappointingly lacking smut. I know.  
Disclaimer: I own nothing.  
Notes: ...I'm not a _huge_ fan of spiced wine, but... I can't remember why I started writing this fic O.o that's how old it is. (okay, 3 months, but who's counting?)

G.G.G.

The first time Tezuka drinks spiced wine they are in Chicago. They are there for a charity tennis tournament, and when Tezuka stands in front of a camera and almost numbly reads the sob-story in English about a girl who has to go hungry on Christmas day, he wonders who uttered the words 'small scale'.

He has not yet gotten used to the intimacy of living with Echizen, (living together, because even though they each have their own apartment with lingering traces of cat hair in the corners, Tezuka can't find another name for waking up to Ryoma's tousled hair tickling his chin in the mornings) but he embraces it, sharing his space, making room for another body, another pair of arms, legs, knees and sharp elbows, a firm back, a warm neck, a small mouth and wicked eyes. Ryoma.

He finds the sponsor paid suite far too large for them, it's too much space to share, too many couches to occupy, too many seats at the dining table. It brings forth so much unexcused closeness, 'can I?' and 'I want...', but they let the words linger unspoken in the air between them.

They eat dinner with their chairs so close together that their knees bump, and looking back afterward Tezuka can't remember what they ate, but the reflections of the candles in Ryoma's eyes are clear in his mind.

It is winter, and a layer of snow is coating the city, making the skyscrapers stand out as glossy pillars against the darkening sky. It is cold on the balcony, and Tezuka's hands are numb from both the cold outside air and the heat of the cup in his hands. The wine is sweet and warms the cool roof of his mouth.

Echizen leans his head out over the railing, gazing down contemplatively while sipping slightly on his own cup. His lips are red, and Tezuka wonders if they will taste as rich as the wine when he kisses him later.

The stars are coming to life when Ryoma fits himself close to Tezuka's body, a warm presence reaching from his hip to his ear, curling around his leg, and breathing out the sweet scent of wine and cinnamon on his neck.

Tezuka doesn't move, and they watch the darkness curl around the edges of the city below them until thousands of electric lights colour the night. When they break away and return inside Tezuka feels stiff, their cups are empty, and their noses are cold.

It is startling to feel Ryoma's nose on his cheek as they kiss, and Tezuka wonders if the chilly imprint he can feel there is imagined. In the wake of the cold they share and create warmth, and don't fall asleep until long after the candles have burned down.

G.G.G.

Months later Ryoma forgets his can of Ponta in the window, and when he finds it the sun has made it warm. He scrunches his nose and drops a comment about how Ponta should be cold and the only grape drink that is enjoyable warm is spiced wine.

"Hmm" Tezuka responds absentmindedly and turns page in the paper.

G.G.G.

The news say that it's one of the hottest days of the season. Tezuka believes it.

He finds a flowery apron in a cupboard, and he wonders distractedly why they have one. It's not until Karupin jumps onto the counter, careens into the pot of red wine and makes it splash all over the countertop and Tezuka's shirt, that he remembers.

G.G.G.

Sweat pearls on Tezuka's face as he stands in front of the stove, stirring the rich red mixture. He feels uncomfortably hot, like at the end of an exceptionally straining training session, but without the pleasant ache of tired limbs.

Karupin winds around his legs as he covers the pot with a lid, the small body almost circling his ankles fully as it moves in a figure 8, soft fur sliding over his skin. He nudges the cat away with his foot, and with his toes scratches the place where the tail tickled him.

For awhile he wanders around in the apartment, from overheated room to overheated room, creating an illusion of a breeze, feeling restless and sticky. He counts the minutes until Ryoma will be home.

G.G.G.

He's in the kitchen when the door creaks open, and he can hear Karupin bound over the livingroom floor on soft paws to welcome Ryoma as he enters. The sound of Ryoma's bag being dropped reaches his ears, and he can see the scene for his inner eye: Karupin curled into a little bundle in Ryoma's arms as Ryoma scratches him behind the ears at the exact spot that always makes him purr louder than ever, the spot which only Ryoma can find.

Tezuka hurriedly pours the wine into two small cups, and taking a final breath he walks out of the kitchen, holding out a cup in indication for Ryoma to take it. Karupin gives Ryoma a pleading look as he's put down on the floor, but when he is paid no heed he turns away and trots over to lie down again in front of the fan.

Ryoma takes the cup from Tezuka's hand and just stares at it for a moment, biting his lip, but when he gazes up at Tezuka his eyes are smiling.

"You're such a sap Buchou," he says.

G.G.G.

Ryoma's body is familiar now, but it is still a relief to Tezuka to touch him, to finally _finally_ be allowed—and welcome—to.

It is unendurably hot, especially Tezuka's foot that is dangling over the arm over the couch in a sliver of sun seeping in through the window, but Ryoma's mouth is hotter, burning patterns into Tezuka's chest, stomach, thighs, mouth, and everywhere else he ventures.

His eyes glitter mischievously as he pauses to take another sip of spiced wine, and when he resumes tracing his tongue along Tezuka's hipbone the heat is scorching.

G.G.G.

It's too warm weather for this kind of drink, and Tezuka feels the extra warmth fizz inside him, but it doesn't matter because even though his hands are clammy on Ryoma's skin he can taste the cinnamon in his mouths as their tongues slide together lazily.

There is something Tezuka can't decipher in Ryoma's gaze as he breaks away, trailing his fingers over Tezuka's cheek.

"I—" he stops, blinks, tilts his head down like he does when he tries to hide beneath the brim of his cap, "Thank you."

It's two out of three longed for words, and Tezuka thinks that it is enough.

G.G.G.

_fin_.

a/n: hope you liked it :) and don't forget to comment.


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